


Vulnerability

by silkinsilence



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: Widowmaker lets her hair down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know how to summarize or tag this. Widow and Satya having a slightly fluffy moment?? I do not know. Please help.
> 
> Based on [this prompt](https://overwatch-kink.dreamwidth.org/679.html?thread=847015#cmt847015) from the kink meme.

The eyes are uncomfortable.

Widowmaker does not look away from her as she lifts her able hands to pull the tie from her hair. The stare is level, even, unblinking, the same one she gives through the scope of Widow's Kiss. A look, literally, that can kill.

But her rifle is not in her hands, nor is the arachnid visor perched on her brow. They are not on the battlefield; they are not enemies.

Satya avoids the golden eyes, not because she is afraid of Widowmaker, but just because they are uncomfortable. And for the moment, anyway, it is much more important to focus on the dark hair slowly being released from its ponytail. It is a show for her benefit. Would it not be rude to look away?

A final tug and the hair spills free. It is like a river of ink around her face and down her shoulders to her lower back. The light plays through it, casting blue-grey highlights. Satya's fingers twitch reflexively at her sides, and it is an effort not to bring her hands up immediately. Asking permission is very important to Widowmaker. She likes to retain control.

After a moment, she smiles.

"Ah, _minette,_ you wear your heart on your sleeve."

Satya flushes. She has been told that many times since joining Overwatch. They call it honesty; they call it straightforwardness; they call it innocence. It feels only like naïveté.

"Would you like to touch it?"

Widowmaker is cruel. Her smile says she already knows the answer. She has known the answer for weeks. Months, perhaps, months of teasing, of the ponytail brushing Satya's skin with a flick of the sniper's head.

Satya nods.

Widow lies back. Her hair fans out along the comforter of the small dorm cot. It looks even darker against the contrast of the pale sheets. Her skin nearly matches the lavender. She wears only a tank top and dark pants, but the simple garments are elegant on her.

"Then touch."

Satya joins her. She hesitates a moment longer and then gives in.

It is as soft as she has imagined. She moves her fingers through it slowly, reverently, starting at the scalp and working down. Widowmaker's hair is very thin, and there are no snarls. She must have combed her hair before Satya arrived. The thought sends a small thrill of pleasure through the architech--she is worth preparing for.

Widowmaker's eyes drift closed until they are only yellow slits. Satya scratches her scalp, combs through the hair again and again, winds it around her fingers. A loose strand sticks in the joints of one of her prosthetic's fingers. With a look of disgust she pulls the wastebin closer to the bed to discard any other rogue hairs.

Widowmaker does not hide her smile.

"You would make a horrible sniper, _minette._ "

"Then it is good I am not one," Satya says shortly. She tugs a little in retribution, not enough to hurt, but Widowmaker's smile stubbornly remains.

"It feels good." She opens her eyes. Their catlike gaze fixes on the architech. "May I return the favor?"

It takes Satya a moment to catch on. She wore her hair in a bun today, reminiscent of her Vishkar days. She much prefers it down and loose and free, but today the every brush of her hair on her face and shoulders was irritating.

She nods again. She slides onto the sheets until they are resting beside each other, skin to skin. Widowmaker's hands gently wander up Satya's neck to pull the pins from her bun. Her fingertips ignite sparks under Satya's skin; it feels so good.

The pins Widowmaker removes are hard-light. She smiles at the sight.

"So efficient," she murmurs, before pulling Satya's hair gently free. Their manes tangle together on the pillows, warm black and cool black. Satya continues playing with the sniper's hair, soft around her fingers. She watches it as if entranced. Widowmaker scratches gently along Satya's scalp. She watches her face. It is well worth watching.

"Are you cold?" she asks abruptly. "My skin—"

"No. It's nice. I—I like it." Satya says. She smiles a bit sheepishly. "There is no sweat."

She likes it. She likes Widowmaker's weaponized, inhuman form. And though the sniper is cool, is always cool, she feels somewhat warmer at that.

Satya's lips, when she brings them to hers, are also very warm. It is chaste, but that matters not. There is more care in Satya's caresses in her hair than in the press of their mouths.

"Widowmaker..." Satya breathes when they pull apart.

The sniper shakes her head.

"Not Widowmaker."

Satya is taken aback. A different forbidden name sits on her tongue like a leaden stone, and she doesn't know whether she should say it.

"Amélie?" she ventures.

The woman closes her eyes and inclines her head just a bit, just enough.

"For now."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make it explicit that when Widow lets herself be called Amélie, it's not because she is Amélie or she's reverted to her or anything like that; it's because she just wants a name other than the one Talon gave her, a name for Satya to call her, so she accepts it because it's the only other one she has.
> 
> (should've included that, huh)
> 
> Comments always appreciated!


End file.
